Wanderby gestured, reactivating his formula. The kids stopped sliding forward and instead started to spin. It was slow at first.
“I do not like having to repeat myself. Lass, lads, I want that Book!”
Wanderby spoke a few new words. Simon, Alysha, and Owen spun in place, going faster and faster; the lack of friction on their feet made Wanderby’s formula especially effective. The world soon became a blur as they whipped around.
Finally, they slowed down and the world came back into focus. They collapsed to the ground, and though they’d stopped spinning, everything seemed to keep whirling.
Wanderby walked over to them and folded his arms across his chest. “Which of you has it? Come now, cooperate or I’ll start again. If your heads pop off, the blood will make an awful mess.”
A commanding English accent echoed within the gym. “Mr. Wanderby, explain yourself!” Simon, Alysha, and Owen strained to look around the room and see who had spoken. It was Miss Fanstrom!
She took long strides across the floor, swinging her arms angrily.
Wanderby was stunned. “Miss Fanstrom? This does not concern you.”
Miss Fanstrom shook her head, her gigantic column of black hair remaining still. “Oh, I disagree. I am the principal, not you. In this school, the principal is responsible for discipline. And I certainly do not approve of your methods.” She pointed to the spilled garbage can. “It’s bad enough you can’t remember the children’s names, but to spread trash like that?” Then she gestured to the kids. “And there is no spinning in school.”
Wanderby frowned. “Please leave us alone. These are matters that you could not possibly understand.”
Miss Fanstrom stepped up to Wanderby and looked down to meet his gaze. (She was several inches taller, not even counting her hair.) “I understand far more than you think. Far more than you understand.” Her voice was clipped and stern.
“You leave me no choice,” Wanderby said. He started to speak his formula, but then Miss Fanstrom’s hair went into motion.
The tower of hair stretched forward like the extremely thick tentacle of a shaggy octopus. It smacked Wanderby across the face, cutting him off before he could get halfway through his formula. Then the hair rose up above him and banged down on his head like a gigantic, fuzzy hammer.
Willoughby Wanderby sank to the floor, unconscious.
Miss Fanstrom walked over to the kids and clucked her tongue. “Tut, tut, children. If you were using your heads, you would have found a way to counteract Mr. Wanderby’s formula. He was only controlling rotational motion.”
The three friends lay staring, unable to respond. A few seconds later, Owen leaned over and threw up.
Miss Fanstrom sighed. “Mr. Walters, that is not a proper answer.”
She tapped a button on a remote control attached to her belt, and the kids’ dizziness stopped immediately. She had canceled out the effects of Wanderby’s formula! She winked at them. “A little gizmo a friend gave me long ago. Comes in handy.” She waited a moment. “Very well, up you go. This is no time to rest. Miles to go before you sleep, so to speak.”
Simon, Alysha, and Owen slowly rose to their feet. Although the dizziness was gone, Simon and Owen were still a bit drained from using their formulas so much.
Miss Fanstrom gave Owen a breath mint, which he popped in his mouth and chewed. “Well done earlier, by the way. Since I arrived I’ve felt that Mr. Van Ny and Mr. Stern could use a good drubbing.”
She turned and headed for the gym’s exit. After a moment, she turned back to the three friends. “Are you coming or not? I do have other matters to attend to, you know. I’d hate for Mr. Wanderby to wake up while we’re standing here; I don’t want to use more-drastic measures on him. Other things aside, he’s a very good gym teacher.”
They walked with Miss Fanstrom, too numb to ask any questions. She pulled out a small yellow pad and scribbled a number onto a sheet of paper. She handed the sheet to Simon. “Here. This is the apartment you want. See the man who lives there and he’ll give you a bit of information. Not too much, I imagine, but just enough to get you through this. Frankly, he could use the company.”
Simon cleared his throat. “Get us through what, Miss Fanstrom?”
Miss Fanstrom smiled. “Ah, already asking questions. Very resilient. That’s good. You’ll need the questions and the resilience. Miles to go, miles to go.”
She herded them toward her office. “I must say, I’m quite proud of you all so far,” Miss Fanstrom said. “You’ve handled yourselves admirably. Quite. But you’ll have to start reacting more quickly than you did with Mr. Wanderby. Villains don’t always chatter before striking or start their attacks so slowly. If you let every surprise freeze you, you’ll never make it through. Use your heads and act with confidence.”
Miss Fanstrom opened the door to her office, and they followed her inside. She shut the door behind them, stepped behind her desk, and placed her notebook computer on it. She pointed to the sheet of paper in Simon’s hand. “Do you understand what you’re to do?”
Simon glanced down at the paper, over to Alysha and Owen, then back to Miss Fanstrom. “No.”
“Good,” Miss Fanstrom said dryly. “Wouldn’t do for me to give you the answers. Wouldn’t be much of an adventure.” She opened her notebook computer and tapped at its keyboard. It beeped, and there was an answering beep from the mechanical box above the door. “Be smart and be brave. I have faith in you.”
Surprisingly, Owen had the nerve to ask, “Miss Fanstrom? Is your hair alive?”
Miss Fanstrom arched an eyebrow. “Why, Mr. Walters…how bold.” She winked and gripped the sides of her tower of hair. She wriggled her fingers into the base of the hair and lifted; the entire column rose off her head, revealing a mechanism at the bottom. It was a machine!
Underneath, Miss Fanstrom had perfectly normal hair, though it was cut very short. She winked. “Yet another useful device for someone in my position.”
“Your position?” Simon asked.
Miss Fanstrom replaced her mechanical hair. “Yes. Principal.” She pointed to the door. “The exit is that way. Off you go.”
Simon, Alysha, and Owen nodded, a little uncertainly. They opened Miss Fanstrom’s office door and behind it saw an unfamiliar corridor with dull gray-and-black carpeting, off-white walls, and several brass-fixture lamps mounted along it. It definitely wasn’t part of the school. It looked more like the hallway in an apartment building.
They stepped past the doorway and turned back to look at Miss Fanstrom. She waved her hand forward. “Go on. Ahead on the right.”
Still confused, Simon led Alysha and Owen down the hall. Miss Fanstrom’s door shut on its own, and when the kids turned to look, it had vanished.
Simon took a deep breath and rechecked the paper in his hand. “This is it. Number one-oh-six.” He knocked on the door in front of him. Nothing happened, so he knocked harder. There was the sound of locks being undone, and then the door swung open.
Simon, Alysha, and Owen looked up at a tall man who stared back at them. He was older, but they couldn’t tell by exactly how much. He had dark brown hair with many strands of white throughout, a pair of thin spectacles pushed forward on his nose, and faint lines on his face. He could have been thirty or three hundred.
From the brown bathrobe he wore over striped flannel pajamas and the thick-soled slippers he had on his feet, it was clear he wasn’t expecting any company.
And from the way his bespectacled eyes bugged out and his thin-lipped mouth froze in an O shape, it was clear he was shocked to see them.
The man opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out.
“Hello?” Alysha finally asked. “Are you alive?”
At last the man found his voice, speaking in a clear, crisp English accent. “What on Earth are you doing here?” He frowned and mumbled, “I knew that hallway looked familiar.”
“We don’t even know where here is,” Simon said. “Who are you?”<
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“Why, I’m your Narrator,” he said without thinking. Then he gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh, goodness. I’m going to get into so much trouble for this!”
CHAPTER 30
THIS ISN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN!
I pulled my hand away from my mouth and closed my eyes, holding them shut for a long moment. I thought I might discover I was imagining it. Alas, no: when I opened my eyes, the children were still there. Simon Bloom, Alysha Davis, and Owen Walters were standing outside my doorway!
“What do you mean, you’re our Narrator?” Alysha demanded.
I cleared my throat. “Er, I meant to say navigator. Yes. And the direction you want is that way.” I pointed to the exit while quickly closing the door. But not quickly enough—something was jammed in the doorway.
“Ouch! That’s my foot!” Owen shouted.
I swung the door back open. “Terribly sorry, but you did place it in the way; I don’t know why you’ve chosen this moment to become so courageous.” Instantly, I realized my mistake and again clapped my hand to my mouth.
Alysha put her hands on her hips. “Now what the heck does that mean? Who are—?” She paused and turned back to her friends. “Do you guys hear that? That sounds like my voice.”
I coughed loudly to cover the noise, but of course, the sound of my cough echoed from my apartment. “That’s nothing. A television program I’m watching. Please leave now; I’m stricken with plague, you see, and can’t have visitors.”
Owen shook his head. “No, I definitely heard Alysha’s voice and then his and now…now I hear mine.”
Simon glared at me. “What’s going on?”
Alysha simply pushed past me and stepped into my apartment.
“Wait a moment!” I said. “You, there, this is not how things are done!”
But it was too late. Simon and Owen followed Alysha into my apartment and all three murmured, “Whoa!” at what they saw. I put my face in my hands and groaned. This kind of thing was not supposed to happen.
Simon, Alysha, and Owen gaped at the sight of my wall-size Viewing Screen showing images of them. And me. Standing in my apartment as it was happening.
Simon and Alysha whirled to face me, both of them thinking horrible thoughts about spies or Peeping Toms. I had raised my hands, ready to protest my innocence, when I noticed Owen getting closer to the screen.
“You guys! Why didn’t you tell me I had some puke on my shirt? That’s disgusting!” Then he remembered what he was looking at and whipped around to face me, too. “And what’s the big idea having us on your TV screen?”
Simon looked back and forth from me to the screen and then gazed around the room. He was making exactly the right conclusion, which was exactly the worst news for me. “Wait a minute! How is this working? That image…What kind of camera angle do you have here? Because it’s impossible!” He kept turning and moving around while peeking over his shoulder to note that, sure enough, the Viewing Screen was capturing it. “No matter where I move, it’s focused on me and still showing all of you. How many cameras do you have running?”
“Oh, dear,” I groaned. “I’ll be sacked for this, you know.” The three of them had no idea what I meant. “Fired. I shall be fired. This is against procedure.”
Alysha balled her hands into fists and spoke her formula, dimming the lights for a moment as she began absorbing electricity. “Have you been following us?”
“Young lady, I have not left my apartment in”—I checked my watch—“nine years, five months, ten days, and fourteen minutes. They’ve even changed the wallpaper in the halls since I’ve last been out there. And mind you, that outing was only for a building-wide fire drill.” I frowned. “It was raining, too. You’d think my one time out would at least include some bloody sunshine.”
“How can sunshine be bloody?” Owen asked.
I sighed. “Oh, Owen, sometimes you don’t stop to think, do you? I’m English; ‘bloody’ is just an expression we use.”
“So we’re in England now?” Simon asked.
I shook my head. “No, we’re still in Lawnville; I’m stationed here.” I smoothed my bathrobe lapels. “But all the best Narrators are from Great Britain.”
“Narrators,” Simon said. “You said that before. What are you talking about?”
I shook my head again. “No. I’ve said too much already. Please leave.”
Alysha folded her arms. “Tell us. If you’ve really been watching us, you know how dangerous we can be. You wouldn’t like us when we’re angry.”
I groaned. “Very well, just stop stealing lines from The Incredible Hulk. I don’t want my Chronicle to be accused of plagiarism.”
Simon gestured with his hand. “Your Chronicle?”
“Ohmigosh, look!” Owen was the first to look at something other than the Viewing Screen or myself. To my dismay, he had found the Recording Monitor.
“What’s a Recording Monitor? Why capitalize that and Viewing Screen?”
And, to my greater dismay, he was reading along. Perfect. Perhaps it was better when he just hid from everything.
Owen, of course, read this. “Hey-what-does-that-mean-what-are-you-trying-to-say—” He stared and frowned. “Do I really talk like that?”
I pointed to Alysha. “She doesn’t call you Speedy for nothing, you know.”
“You were about to explain,” Simon said.
I rubbed at my nose beneath my eyeglasses. “Yes, fine. Only please, Owen, step away from the Monitor. The one thing more distressing than your presence here is having you read along as the tale unfolds.” I spread my hands, indicating the rest of my apartment. “You might as well make yourselves comfortable. This may be a bit shocking.”
The kids looked around at my three-seater sofa, polished-wood coffee table with many magazines and newspapers on it, and several fake plants (fake plants make little mess, you see).
I gestured to the couch. “Please, sit. It’s about time someone used it. The problem with all your friends being Narrators is they never come over to visit—we stay home working all the time.”
As they moved to the couch, Alysha decided to be nice, probably to soften me up a bit. “You’ve kept it very neat.”
I smiled. “Of course. I’m English,” I said before going into the kitchen. “First let me get you some food and drink; after all that formula use, you’ll need to eat a lot. How about leftover Nezzo’s? It’s from yesterday, so it’s still fresh enough.”
“You order from Nezzo’s?” Alysha asked.
“Why not? I enjoy good pizza as much as the next person.”
Surprisingly, Owen spoke first. “Are you a person?” Then he glanced at the Recording Monitor and said, “Hey, why is that surprising?”
I stomped over to the Monitor and shifted the angle so he could no longer see it. Then I went into my spotless kitchen, placed several slices of pizza in the oven for reheating, and fetched the kids three cans of soda. I put the kettle on for myself.
“Yes, Owen, I am a person. I’m a member of the Historical Society. As with the other groups in the Knowledge Union, no Outsiders know of us. Most Union members don’t know much about us either; it makes our work go more smoothly.” I poured the soda into glasses and placed them on coasters in front of my guests.
“What is your work?” Simon asked.
“The Society records history as it happens, with different members observing different subjects. I specialize in chronicling the Order of Physics, which is why I’m stationed in Lawnville. The Chronicle I’ve been working on for the last week and a day is about you and your friends, Simon. I am observing and recording your story. These”—I gestured to the Viewing Screen and Recording Monitor—“are my tools. It appears that I am narrating the story of how you change the universe.”
Simon sprayed a mouthful of soda all over my carpet.
“Don’t worry; I’ll clean that up later,” I said, trying to hide my dismay. “I think I preferred it without company,” I added in a low voice.<
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CHAPTER 31
GREYGOR GERYSON HAS HIS DAY
“Me?” Simon asked as he wiped the soda off his face. “Change the universe? How? Why me?”
I rubbed my chin. “I’m not certain. Even Narrators are only told what is needed to make a good Chronicle. I’ll tell you this—no Outsider has ever seen Dunkerhook Woods before. Yet the Breeze invited you right in. Notice how Alysha and Owen could never find the woods without you? Alysha felt enough of the Breeze to lure her in that first time, but both only got the full Breeze treatment when you were all fleeing Veenie and Sirabetta. Now they should have no problem noticing the woods on their own. But Simon, the woods like you. The Book, too. Letting you access its wondrous formulas, humming when you hold it! Just having two Keepers at once is history being made. And I get to Chronicle it.”
“So you follow Simon around all the time?” Owen asked.
“Not just Simon. I see what is needed for the Chronicle to be told right. As for following, only in a manner of speaking. I don’t go anywhere, as I’ve said; the Viewing Screen can observe you wherever you go. Even off planet, if need be.”
They sat silently (a rarity with these three); I could tell they were impressed.
“So wait, do you watch as we go to the bathroom?” Alysha asked.
Okay, maybe she wasn’t as impressed as the other two. “No, dear. Have you ever read a book in which the characters go to the bathroom? Quite frankly, who wants to read about it?” My oven timer dinged. “Ah. Victuals!” I brought out four plates of pizza. “Enjoy! It’ll help you get your strength back and should be just as tasty as if eaten in the restaurant. Or outside this apartment.” I sighed.
As we ate, Alysha guessed that sitting in my apartment for so long had warped my brain. I couldn’t help but lose my famous English reserve at that. “I am not bloody warped! I am merely expressing my pride in my work. And so what if I’m getting a bit dodgy from sitting here alone for so long? I’d like to see you try it!”
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